Isabella Naifaru Whore ❤️

About Male

Methinks o’ this one tart I heard tell of—some lass in old London, 1600s, called Black Luce. Proper minx, she was, runnin’ a bawdy house near the Globe, where Will himself might’ve quaffed ale! Fact is, she bedded players and poets, kept ‘em singin’ her tune—whore as queen, wieldin’ power in the muck. Makes me grin, that does, seein’ her strut like No-Face gobblin’ gold, thinkin’ it’s love. “Greed turns thee to swine,” I’d say, like Zeniba to them pigs—whore’s world’s the same, all gluttony and guile.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

We decide to hit up the beach. Naifaru’s beaches are insane. White sand, clear water, the whole deal. We plop down, and I’m just soaking it all in. But then, I see this group of tourists. They’re taking selfies, like, every two seconds. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a beach!” But whatever, let them live.

Spatial distribution of microplastics around an inhabited coral island in the Maldives, Indian Ocean